


Regret

by Ambrosya Sylva (Ambrosya)



Series: Lessons [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-05
Updated: 2010-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-09 07:55:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambrosya/pseuds/Ambrosya%20Sylva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aedina and Duncan flee the massacre at Highever Castle and come to terms with the events of that night--and their own actions leading up to it--along the journey to Ostagar. (This is a follow-up to my previous story, <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/81025">The Testing</a>, and is based upon the events therein, specifically that Duncan conceded to f!Cousland's attempt to proposition him.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regret

It had been many years since Duncan had allowed himself the luxury of wallowing in self-blame, and he wasn't about to start now.  Nonetheless, he felt a nagging uncertainty about his own conduct the night Highever fell and Bryce Cousland had been slain.  The fact that, as a Grey Warden he was supposed to remain impartial and uninvolved in political disputes among the nobility was a bitter pill to swallow when it meant not taking an active role to avert a terrible injustice.  He also supposed it was possible, if unlikely, that he might have been in a better position to render aid--or at least have been more alert to the developing conflict--had he not spent the earlier portion of the evening in bed with Cousland's daughter.

That thought led him to the young woman herself, who now walked silently behind him through the forested hills leading away from her home, wearing the light leather armor and weapons in which she had fled the massacre that claimed her parents' lives that night.  Her only other burden was a bedroll and pack of supplies slung across her back, both purchased by Duncan from a traveling peddler they had encountered the next day.  The only token she carried of her past was the family sword she'd salvaged from the treasury before fleeing the castle.

Despite the exhausting pace he set for their journey, she neither complained nor questioned.  The only animation she evidenced was beside the fire when they made camp for the night; then she took the family sword from her back and began honing its edge, with slow, ritual-precise strokes, on a whetstone.  As she did so, her lips moved in a whispered incantation, a litany of the names of the family members, servants, guardsmen, retainers and even guests who had died at Highever.  When she'd gone through the list completely, she sheathed the sword and placed it on the ground beside her where she sat on her bedroll.  Then she would draw her knees up to her chest and stare into the fire.

If he made a point of placing food in her hands, she would eat it.  If he did not, she made no effort to seek out sustenance on her own.  It had been days since she'd spoken except to give monosyllabic answers to only the most direct and pressing of questions.  She neither questioned their route nor demonstrated any curiosity about their destination.  So different was she from the vibrant, boldly inquisitive girl he'd met in Highever that evening that Duncan began to wonder if that girl hadn't actually been murdered there alongside her mother and father, leaving only an hollow-eyed wraith trailing in his wake. 

If she slept, he was not aware of it.  Certainly she did not do so while he kept watch over their campsite through the night, ever alert for Arl Howe's men appearing to finish the job of exterminating the Cousland line.  This meant, of course, that the burden of keeping watch rested solely upon Duncan himself; he had no confidence that she would be aware enough to respond in the event of an attack.  He only dared to snatch a couple hours of sleep just before dawn, and he worried because that circumstance could not continue indefinitely.

Even at the demanding pace he set for them, the journey from Highever to Ostagar would take weeks, and the closer they drew to Ostagar and the Korcari Wilds, the more dangerous the journey would become.  He would need to be rested before they reached that point.  Despite the evening she had spent in his bed, she was a recruit, and he was the Warden-Commander of Ferelden.  Whatever attraction or fondness he may have for her must by necessity yield to his duty.  He had an obligation, not only to the Grey Wardens, but to her and even to Bryce Cousland.  He'd made a promise to see her not just out of Highever, but to safety.  He could not do that if she would not take care of herself.

His own confusion about the girl wasn't helping the matter.  He was not a man easily swayed from his course, but from the first, this young noblewoman had set all his intentions askew.  He'd given his word of honor that he would not recruit her, but mere minutes in her company had him determined to convince Teyrn Cousland to change his mind on the matter.  He'd been so charmed and amused and aroused by her that he'd taken the foolish step of agreeing to an assignation with her that very same evening.

_"Do the Grey Wardens really trouble themselves overmuch on matters of propriety, then?  I wouldn't have thought so."_

That memory caused him some discomfort.  Certainly it hadn't been an honorable act to bed the daughter of his host and most especially a man he esteemed as much as he had Teyrn Cousland.  The justification for his decision had been a valid--if flimsy--one.  He needed a recruit with Aedina Cousland's intellect and political savvy, needed her desperately.  Duncan's own time was limited; even if he did not die battling the archdemon in the war to come, his remaining days were few.  He hadn't had time to slowly get to know the girl and delicately work away at her parents' resistance to her becoming a Grey Warden; but he'd given his word he would not exercise his Right of Conscription.

He'd left himself with little choice in the matter; he had needed to get the measure of young Lady Cousland and be certain she was as determined and unflinching as she appeared to be, and he'd needed to do so quickly.  However, he was honest enough with himself to admit that such rationale provided an exceptionally convenient excuse for relieving his largely-ignored sexual frustrations, as well as unleashing a rather brutish bent he kept firmly in check.

As he'd predicted, she had not flinched, had welcomed his even his most demanding overtures gladly, for she had turned out to be as determined in her desires as she was in her sense of purpose.  Indeed, were the memory of the rest of the events of that night so dire and full of tragedy, he'd no doubt find himself considerably warmed by his recollections even now.

But, surely, there had been another way.  What had come over him that he had chosen _that_ particular course?

Perhaps, after all, there had been some truth to the words she had spoken that afternoon when they had met in Highever and she had propositioned him so boldly.  Perhaps the prospect of possible--even virtually certain--death in the battle to come compelled men and women to seek what pleasures they could while they had the chance.  Whatever the reason, however inappropriate or dishonorable it may have been, Duncan had found himself drawn to the young woman, compelled by his desire for her.

And now, he found himself hopelessly compelled by her vulnerability, the vast emptiness he saw behind her staring eyes.  He couldn't afford to coddle her, and yet neither could he bring himself to deal with her harshly.  Somehow he must penetrate the cloak of silent suffering she'd wrapped so tightly around herself.  The time in which he could indulge her mourning was rapidly dwindling. 

  
*     *     *     *     *

  
For Aedina, those first days after her flight from Highever passed with little awareness of where she was or what her destination might be.  She looked down and saw her feet moving, one after the other, but she had no recollection of when she had begun to walk.  The passage of the sun across the sky failed to register in her conscious mind.  She stopped walking when Duncan told her it was time to make camp, never actually hearing the words he spoke, never noticing the shadows pooling at the base of the trees and slithering outward in oily smears across the landscape.  The food he gave her made its way to her mouth without any conscious intention on her part to eat.  It was flavorless.  She might have wondered if food would ever taste good again, except that she couldn't be troubled to care.

_"What?  Why can't I go off to battle with you and Fergus?"_

"I'm certain you'd more than prove yourself, but I'm not willing to deal with your mother if you join the war."

"That's not fair!  I want to fight!"

"...I don't need you off chasing danger like your brother..."

"I could make a difference!"

"...You'll get your chance for excitement soon enough."

Snippets of the conversations she had that day before Highever fell repeated endlessly in her head, each one more condemning than the last.  Such a selfish, headstrong, obstinate child she'd been that final day!  Their last day alive, and she'd spent it sullen and peevish, arguing with them at every turn.  She'd questioned her parents' edicts, made Ser Gilmore's life difficult just because she could, barked at the guardsmen, deliberately antagonized Nan, and even insulted her mother's guests. 

_"'Tis not glory I yearn for, nor adventure...'tis purpose."  
_  
She's been irritated that they had dismissed her desire to aid the war effort as mere thrill-seeking, and yet...perhaps they had not been wrong.  Why else, then, had she seduced her father's honored guest?  Was she truly such a shallow creature that she'd behave dishonorably out of mere boredom, like the noblewomen she'd always disdained?

_I didn't tell them I loved them_.  The thought echoed against the brittle walls of the shell of solitude and remorse she erected around herself.  She'd wasted the last words she'd ever spoken to her parents on protests and arguments, spent the final day of their lives secretly rebelling and scheming to thwart their refusal to permit her to join the Grey Wardens.  She'd let her petulance distract her from the warning signs that had been laid before her.  She'd _seen_ the smirks on the faces of Howe's guards when she'd questioned them, heard the sneer in their tone, wondered about Howe's cagey answers when she'd spoken to him, and yet she hadn't had the sense to realize what he had been plotting.  No, she'd been too busy manipulating her way into Duncan's bed to see the danger looming over the castle, the care of which had been entrusted to her.

Little wonder she couldn't taste her food; the only flavor that lingered on her tongue now was the ashes-and-bile bitterness of regret.

For the first several days of their journey, Duncan obliged her with silence for the most part, speaking only to give essential information and directives.  He'd been courteous, yet remote.  He made no attempt to comfort her, spoke no platitudes and offered no condolences.  Had she bothered to meet his eyes, she might have noticed his concern, but she rarely lifted her gaze from the ground before her.  When darkness fell, she sat on her bedroll before the campfire and stared into the blaze.  Her gaze might have been called unseeing, but it wasn't, not really.  The flames she saw, though, were not those before her.  Rather, they spanned the stone corridors in Highever Castle, blocking the passages and routes of egress.  On the other side of the conflagration, the bodies of her mother and father lay rotting on the floor of the larder.  She heard not the sounds of the night around her and Duncan moving about the campsite, but instead the screams of servants as they were cut down where they fled, the agony in her mother's voice as she beheld her murdered grandson, her father's dying gasps.

Sometimes she found herself murmuring verses from the Chant of Light so softly that her voice was lost in the crackle of the fire.  Jace, her mabari, occasionally whined at her and tugged at her sleeve for attention, but she shook him off.  _A mabari is no suitable pet for a young lady_, her mother had said.  Yet Jace had been her faithful friend since the day when she was thirteen and had deliberately ignored her mother's wishes and done everything in her power to attract a warhound to imprint upon her.  Now she knew she was unworthy of his devotion, just as she'd been unworthy of her parents' trust and faith.

Sometimes she was aware of Duncan keeping watch over the camp, sleeping little, if at all.  Distantly, she supposed he didn't trust her to take the watch; numb and preoccupied as she was, the whole horde of darkspawn might descend upon them and she wouldn't even know it until the moment a battle-axe cleaved her skull.  The thought was not without its own burden of guilt, and she added it to the litany of her regrets.

Another day, then; miles passing beneath her feet as she mechanically placed one before the other.  Another nightfall with bedrolls by the fire, beneath a canopy of trees in an unknown location.  Some dim spark of curiosity flickered briefly--perhaps she should ask how long it would be until they reached Ostagar?--only to be extinguished beneath the crushing weight of her unconcern as quickly as it had flared to life.

Darkness began its descent around the campsite, wrapped around them like a shroud.  Somewhere behind Aedina, Duncan was moving, no doubt patrolling the perimeter.  In the gloaming, a mere whisper of sound, unmistakable in its familiarity, cut like a clear voice of a clarion through her murmur of the Chant, through the snaps and sizzles of the fire, through the fog of her apathy.

Close at her back, a blade was being unsheathed.

In an instant the world snapped into focus.  Every light, every shadow, every color surged into her awareness with perfect clarity.  She was in motion before she had made any conscious effort to move.  A loud _clang_ shattered the twilight as she repelled the halfhearted thrust of a blade, and thereafter found herself standing with her daggers crossed beneath Duncan's chin.

With a satisfied nod, he opened his hand and dropped his sword.  "Good.  I was starting to fear I had been mistaken in my assessment of you.  Tomorrow I would have taken us to the nearest village and left you there to find your way wherever you would, had you not responded as you did."

As though he hadn't just come within a breath of acquiring a set of gills, Duncan casually stepped back and bent to retrieve his sword, sliding it into the scabbard on his back.  Aedina stared after him, wild-eyed and quivering with unsated battle-readiness.  Feeling foolish, she sheathed her daggers.

"I am in need of rest," Duncan announced, settling on his bedroll.  "Wake me when the moon is high and I'll take the second watch."

He turned his back to her and was asleep before she had taken up her post with her back to the fire.

  
*     *     *     *     *

  
With clarity came pain, keen as the edge of the sword she honed so carefully.  No, that was not right.  Unlike the razor-sharp sword, it did not silently slide between her ribs to slip almost unnoticed into her heart.  Instead, it brutally ripped her chest open and savaged that organ, which somehow, inexplicably, still persisted in beating despite the agony.  The temptation to retreat into the fog once again was strong, but Aedina beat it back that night, understanding the time for indulging her grief had passed.  Her family, her home, was gone.  She must look to herself now, to Fergus, to the future.

She scanned the moonlight-dappled shadows between the trees for movement with Jace beside her, stroking his short pelt as he nuzzled her, panting happily at the attention.  "I'm sorry, my friend," she murmured to him.  He gave a soft, reassuring whine and rolled over in an invitation for her to scratch his belly.

It was unnecessary to rouse Duncan; just as she began considering it, he turned over and rose, immediately surveying the campsite to assess its state.

When he came to stand beside her, Aedina offered him the tin cup she'd prepared for herself with the last of the tea leaves he had kindly purchased at the first village they passed after fleeing Highever.  Obviously, they had been drinking it along the journey, but this was the first time she had tasted it.

"It's the last of the tea," she told him.  "I thought I would save some for you."

"My thanks," he nodded, draining the cup.

She continued to watch him until he at last looked at her.  "Why do I suspect that keeping watch here is more of a formality than anything else?  We've not encountered so much as a wolf or bandit, much less any darkspawn."

"The darkspawn horde is still far to the south of us," Duncan told her.  "But we have only just passed out of the Coastlands and into the Bannorn.  We should now be safely out of Arl Howe's reach, though I believe it prudent to avoid Bann Loren's lands, as he is a known compatriot of Howe's.  Just so, after tonight it will not be necessary to keep watch until we get closer to the Korcari Wilds."

"Bann Loren?  But it was his wife and son who were killed at Highever.  Surely he cannot be in league with Howe after that!"

"I cannot say," Duncan answered.  "Bann Loren's loyalties have always been prone to shift whenever he finds it advantageous, and Arl Howe could no doubt tell Loren whatever story he wishes to concoct to account for the deaths of his wife and son, with no one to contradict him.  I think for the most part, you should be safe now.  It will likely be some time before anyone realizes that your body is not accounted for among the dead at Highever Castle.  Nonetheless, we should be cautious.  We'll continue to avoid the highways and larger towns for the time being, until we need to resupply."

Aedina nodded, and turned her attention back to the darkness beyond the warm ring of light provided by the fire.  Every breath, every movement brought with it some fresh new stab of grief and loss, but now the sorrow had been transformed into something cleaner.  It did not hang upon her, suffocating her under its weight.  She no longer wanted to let it bury her.

"You should rest while you can," Duncan said kindly, interrupting her reverie.

"I feel as though I've been sleeping for days," she said, shaking her head.  "I'm sorry.  I should have been spending this time preparing for what's to come..."

Duncan waved off the apology.  "There will be time enough to prepare when we reach Ostagar," he answered.  "It's true that as Grey Wardens, we leave our families and our past lives behind, but no one expects you not to mourn. For what it's worth...I'm sorry for the loss of your family, Aedina.  Your father was a great man."

"Thank you," she murmured, and turned to seek her bedroll.  Sleep, however, would not oblige her.  The events of that final night at Highever Castle replayed in her mind as she stared into the starless, overcast sky, random snippets of memory wafting across her consciousness.  She turned her regrets over, examining them, and one by one began to make her peace with them.  Her parents had known she loved them, had known she's argued in those final moments because she wanted to save them, had known she rebelled because she was the determined woman they had raised her to be.  Even though Howe and his men had been acting strangely, there was no possible way she could have predicted what was to come.

No, there was only one person who had been wronged by her conduct that night.  Under the weight of her gaze, Duncan turned, a silent question in his eyes.

"I owe you an apology," she said at length, rolling onto her side and propping herself up on an elbow.  "That night...I tried to make you a pawn in my struggle against my father and mother's expectations.  I should not have done so; it was wrong of me to attempt to use you in such a way."

Unexpectedly, Duncan's laughter rang out in the night.  Stung, Aedina lay down, and went back to staring at the sky, wondering just why her apology had been rebuffed.  After a moment, she heard the approach of his feet and looked up as he sat on the ground nearby.

"Forgive me, Aedina," he said.  "I forget that you are, after all, still quite young, and prone to the exaggeration and inflated self-importance of youth.  While I thank you for the intent of your apology, it is quite unnecessary.  It has been a very long time since I might have let anyone use me for their own ends.  Your power struggle with your parents existed long before I came to Highever Castle.  My arrival was purely incidental."

Too weary and heartsore to be offended or feel patronized, Aedina could only concede the truth of his assessment.  "Perhaps you are right.  Still, I find myself regretting my behavior."

"If that is true, then I am sorry to hear it.  I myself treasure the memory, and I hope you shall come to do the same in time.  Good night."

Unsure just how she should respond to that bit of intelligence, Aedina turned her back to him and slept.

  
*     *     *     *     *

  
"Would you really have left me?" she questioned the following day, ducking beneath a tree limb in Duncan's wake.  The shadows were growing longer, the air chill, and they would no doubt be making camp soon.  In keeping with his plan of avoiding the highways, they were now traveling along a barely marked trail through the woods.

She had awoken that morning calm and rested, her appetite present for the first time in days.  They had set off through the cold, late autumn dawn and had made many miles.  Though Aedina had been silent most of the day, deep in thought, she was no longer lost in her grief.  After they had stopped for the midday meal, she finally began to give voice to some of her many questions.

"Yes," he answered, "though I would have considered it a very unfortunate necessity. Not only are you an excellent recruit, but I made a promise to your father to see you to safety.  I feel the safest place for you to be is at Ostagar, far away from Howe and his allies, but to take you into a war in such a state would surely have been a death sentence, and I could not risk the safety of any others who might find themselves fighting alongside you."

"I am sorry I worried you," she murmured, ashamed.

"There is no need to apologize," Duncan replied, looking at her over his shoulder.  "As a general principle, regret is not an emotion we encourage Grey Wardens to linger upon.  We have but one goal: to stop the Blight, and eradicate the darkspawn threat.  In pursuit of that, we do whatever we must.  Sometimes our actions may seem questionable, even immoral.  But a strict adherence to morality would be cold comfort indeed to a land devoured by the Blight.  We may feel sorry for the necessity of our actions at times, but if they were indeed necessary in terms of our goal, then we must make our peace with them and move on."

A troubled frown creased Aedina's brow.  "But surely that philosophy is subject to abuse; to allow members of the order to proceed unchecked by the constraints of common morality would be a recipe for disaster.  Just the other day we were discussing the necessity of maintaining a politically acceptable face for the survival of the Grey Wardens.  If the people feel they cannot trust the Wardens--"

Duncan nodded.  "The balance is even more precarious than you first surmised," he agreed.  "Which is why it's important that we examine our actions in light of their justification, not only as it regards the Blight but also in regards to the survival of the order.  Without the Grey Wardens, there is no way to stop the Blight.  Therefore, we must do what we can to ensure our own survival.  In times when tithes have been scarce, we've had to deal with thieves, smugglers, even pirates.  We recruit high and low alike; pickpocket or noble it makes no difference."

"I see," Aedina replied, not entirely certain she did.

Duncan clearly discerned her ambivalence and sought to allay her misgivings.  "It's important to note, however, that there is a difference between pragmatism and a wanton disregard for not only the law, but simple common decency.  The latter would, in fact, jeopardize the survival of the order.  If the governments and the common people of Thedas cannot trust us, we would quickly cease to function.  The Grey Wardens deal harshly with those of our own who transgress beyond what is justified by our directive.  It is also in our best interest to perform gestures of kindness and to render aid wherever possible, to foster trust and goodwill toward the order.  As such, we often find ourselves in a position to do great good.  A simple act of mercy may pay dividends in unexpected allies."

Comforted, Aedina nodded, considering what he had said.  Duncan gave her a moment to ponder, then concluded, "My point, however, is that if you act in accordance with those priorities, then regret becomes a futile emotion.  The Grey Wardens do what they must.  If you know before you act that what you are doing is in the best interests of stopping the Blight and ensuring that the Grey Wardens remain functional force ready to deal with the darkspawn when needed, then you should have no cause to repine, however much you may be grieved at the necessity of your actions."

Aedina arched a brow at his back.  "Why do I think you're making that particular feat sound easier than it is?"

Duncan did not answer.

Day by day, the miles taking her away from Highever and the life she had known before increased.  Day by day, she found her grief easier to bear.  She still woke in the night with tears she did not recall shedding chilling on her face, though Duncan was kind enough not to mention it.  But the days...she almost felt traitorous at the eager anticipation now stirring within her breast during the days, as she contemplated the new life awaiting her.  No longer was she plagued day and night by the restless knowledge that she was not where she was meant to be.  Now she had the purpose she knew had eluded her these last years in Highever.

Each day, Duncan shared with her the lore and history of the Grey Wardens, though he remained vague as to what she could expect once they reached Ostagar and she undertook the Joining.  He also would not discuss with her the details of how the Wardens had come to be exiled from Ferelden until a mere twenty years ago.  Instead, he cautioned her, "The Grey Wardens _must_ remain a politically neutral force, especially here in Ferelden.  Monarchs and governments come and go, but long after they are gone, the threat of the darkspawn and the possibility of another Blight remain.  The Wardens must be there to face that day."

There was also a bitter sense of triumph.  She had evaded Howe's trap, and each day brought her closer to Ostagar and the king, where she could make her grievance known and demand justice.  Once the battle was done, she would see Howe executed for his crimes.  She would lay her charges at his feet and name him traitor, and the murder of her mother and father, of Oriana and her darling nephew Oren, of Lady Loren and Iona and Dairren, of their knights and retainers and servants, all would be avenged.  A savage smile twisted her lips and her eyes glowed with the cold gleam of frosted steel as she imagined the day she and Fergus would stand side by side and watch Rendon Howe swing from a gallows.

Through it all, however, there was also a growing sense of fear and uncertainty.  Soon, she would find herself in a war, and her survival was far from guaranteed.  She was a skilled fighter, it was true, but if Duncan was right--and she had no reason to believe he was not--this was only the very beginning of the Blight, and the Wardens and the king's forces were greatly outnumbered by the darkspawn horde amassing in the Korcari Wilds.  Had she survived Howe's treachery only to die in a potentially futile battle?  And if they did not prevail at Ostagar, what then would become of Ferelden?

Often in the evenings, once they had set up camp, she and Duncan would spar.  He began to teach her to use the longsword she'd carried with her out of Highever in her right hand rather than a dagger, and she quickly came to understand why the battle prowess of the Grey Wardens was so renowned.  His style was vastly different from hers and her inexperience in battle quickly became apparent to her.  Even the most seasoned veterans she had sparred with in Highever--some of whom had fought in the war with Orlais--would have seemed to be fumbling squires in comparison.  Now she understood just why he had been so casual that night he had drawn his sword at her back; however swift her reaction might have been, had he meant her harm she would beyond a doubt be dead by now.

But she was learning.  Not enough to best him, perhaps, not yet, but the day would come.  Nonetheless, the awareness of her own inexperience was both humbling and frightening.

Once they were well south of Bann Loren's lands, Duncan took a southwestern course, toward the southern end of Lake Calenhad.  Though it would add some days to their journey, he said, he wished to bring news of the massing army at Ostagar to Arl Eamon of Redcliffe in the hopes that he might send troops for the battle.

"I want you to stay here in camp," he instructed her after they had broken their fast.  "While I believe Arl Eamon to be trustworthy, I cannot say who might be calling at Redcliffe Castle or what their allegiance may be.  The rumors that are beginning to circulate in the villages have Arl Howe spreading word that the Couslands were traitors.  Should you be recognized..."

"_Traitors!?_" With a furious shout and a vulgar oath that startled the birds and set them to flight through the half-bare branches, Aedina rounded upon him, her aquamarine eyes blazing.  "Maker's gilded codpiece!  I'm going to string Howe up by his own entrails when I get my hands on him, the king's justice be damned!"

"_Should you be recognized_," Duncan repeated, the slight twitching of his lips almost hidden by his beard, "we would unfortunately lose whatever advantage we have gained from the fact that no one yet knows whether or not you survived the massacre at Highever.  These woods are dense, and not frequented by hunters.  I shall resupply at Redcliffe Village for the journey through the Hinterlands, which will take me the better part of another day.  I should be back by sunset tomorrow, or shortly thereafter."

"Oh, now I see," she snorted in ill humor, "I'm to sleep here on the cold, hard ground while you enjoy a warm bed in Redcliffe Castle tonight!  Very well, then.  Don't say I didn't warn you when you return to find a someone asleep in your bedroll tomorrow night..."

Aedina's voice trailed off and color suffused her cheeks as the myriad ways in which her words could be interpreted became apparent.  "Jace!  Jace, I mean.  Of course.  My mabari.  And his _fleas_," she added for good measure, though the aspersion earned her an annoyed growl from the warhound.

Mortified, she cursed in self-disgust and dropped to the ground by the fire, turning away from Duncan's insufferably neutral expression.  With a nonchalance she didn't feel, she drew one of her daggers and began stroking it along a whetstone.  He was gone long before her cheeks began to cool.

Once she was sure she was alone, Aedina set her dagger on the ground beside her and buried her head in her hands with a dismayed moan.  Maker's blood!  No sooner had she managed to shed her embarrassment over what had passed between them that day in Highever and resolve herself to consider Duncan as nothing more than her commander and perhaps even mentor, then she had to go and make a remark that would remind him of that evening!  He'd been extremely considerate about the whole thing, really.  He'd sough to allay her misgivings about her actions that night, and had shown no inclination to repeat the experience.

Still, she could not quite absolve herself for her behavior.  He'd been her father's guest, and sleeping with him had not only been inappropriate, it had been disrespectful.  Strange, she'd never felt that way about any lover she'd had in the past--not that there had been many.  What had possessed her to throw herself at Duncan that day--much less persist after his initial refusal--she could not fathom.  As the preparations for the troops to leave for Ostagar had gotten underway, Aedina had found herself feeling increasingly discontented.  She'd been restless, even her own skin had felt tight and confining.  Nothing had satisfied or amused or entertained her, and the longer her attempts to go to war with her father and brother had been denied, the worse the feeling had become.  She'd felt that way to a lesser degree in the past, and usually when it happened she put more time in on her training, punishing practice dummies and sparring partners alike.  But when she had seen Duncan...

...When she'd seen Duncan, she'd known that he, of all people, would understand.  For all his calm and dignified demeanor, she had sensed within him a kindred spirit, someone who had known restlessness and the need for an indefinable _something more_.  Perhaps it had not been so much rebellion or an attempt to use him to circumvent her parents' wishes as she had originally assumed; perhaps it had simply been a need to be understood.

Whatever the reason, what had happened that evening filled her with guilt.  The act had been disrespectful to her father and mother; to dwell on it even in her thoughts was disrespectful to their memory.  Surely she could have no room for feelings of desire now, or recollections of pleasure, consumed as her emotions were with her sorrow.  Her duty was to mourn them, and avenge their loss; there could be nothing else for her.

*     *     *     *     *

_"I shall have you as I choose," his impassioned voice rasped in her ear.  Aedina clutched at iron-thewed arms.  His beard scraped her breasts, his tongue flicking against her nipple, pinching it between his lips, drawing it into his mouth..._

...Beneath him now, filled with him, one leg hooked up over his shoulder as she met the surging thrusts of his body, shuddering and crying out in pleasure....

...alone in the corridors of Highever Castle, surrounded by flames and broken, bleeding bodies and screams.  Running!  The larder!...

..."Come, we must go now!" he took her by the arm and pulled her away from the bodies of her mother and father, pushing her toward the servants' entrance.  Suddenly, the hand on her arm was gone, and she turned to find him standing with a shocked expression on his bearded face, masked beneath a wash of blood...

...He sank to the floor, his eyes unseeing, and behind him stood Rendon Howe.  His voice, laden with insinuation, sneering, "I shall have you as I choose..."

With a strangled scream, Aedina woke, sitting up to search the clearing with her eyes.  Beside her, Jace whined in concern and snuffled against her face.  Finding herself alone with the mabari in the camp, she settled, her heart still pounding a frantic rhythm in her breast, sweat chilling on her skin in the night air.

Suddenly overwhelmed, she hugged her knees and, laying her forehead upon them, began to sob as Jace butted his muzzle against her shoulder in an effort to soothe her.  All the tears she'd been too numb to shed in those early days after fleeing Highever came pouring forth in a bitter torrent.  The grief she thought had begun to fade now suddenly felt fresh and raw, a jagged wound, left by a rusted dagger, that had not yet begun to heal.  She finally found herself able to weep for her parents, for little Oren, for Oriana, whom she'd never really even liked.  She wept for Ser Gilmore, who had just earned his spurs that Satinalia when she was seventeen.  She had come across him in the stables seeking cooler air while the rest of the castle was feasting, and, warmed by too much wine, she'd found in him her first lover there in the hay loft, and an even more gratifying friendship in the light of the the next day when they realized nothing more would be possible.  She wept for the soldiers and guards she'd trained beside in the courtyard and gambled with in the barracks.

At long last her tears ceased, leaving her feeling cleaner, lighter somehow despite the dull ache in her head.  She pushed her sweaty hair back from her tear-streaked face. suddenly uneasy.  Beyond the ring of light from the campfire, the woods were fully dark, and a shudder of fear ran through her body.  Duncan was supposed to have returned by now.  By sunset, or shortly thereafter, he'd told her.  The moon rode high in the sky; she judged it to be approaching midnight.

Remembering her dream, Aedina rose to her feet and began to pace the perimeter of the clearing in which they had made their camp.  Her mind raced with frantic questions.  What could possibly have delayed him?  How long should she wait if he did not come?  What would she do if he didn't return?  Could she make it through the Hinterlands all the way to Ostagar without him to guide her?  Had he left his maps here at camp when he had gone to Redcliffe?  With Howe spreading rumors that the Cousland's were traitors, could she trust that the king would take her part against Howe without Duncan to corroborate her side of the story?

In the midst of these questions, she became aware of the rustling approach of something through the darkened forest.  She drew her daggers and dropped into a fighting stance.  "Duncan?" she called through the trees.

"Yes, I am here," came the response almost immediately, and Aedina sagged with relief against the cold, damp bark of a tree, sheathing her daggers.  Duncan emerged from the shadows between the trees.  He went immediately to the campfire and set his packs down before it.  Once she had wrestled her quailing nerves into submission, Aedina joined him.

"I'm sorry I was late," he said with his back toward her, bending to spread his bedroll.  "Arl Eamon was delayed for our conference yesterday by a bout of illness and I was unable to meet with him until this morning, so I got a late start from Redcliffe.  I hope you were not too worried?"

"No!  No, I--" her voice trailed off lamely as she found herself unable to give any sort of rational reason for why she had been prowling at the edge of the clearing ready to do battle in the middle of the night.  Sensing something in her voice, Duncan turned to see the dried traces of tears on her face in the firelight.  His hand reached forth of its own volition and almost touched her face, before he caught himself and withdrew it.

A sudden desperate need flooded her at the hint of his touch, sending a gentle, cramping wave of longing deep into her belly.  Desire, yes, that was there, but far more compelling than that was something she could not name; the need to touch another person, to know the gentle warmth of living flesh against hers, to feel breath against her face, the steady drumbeat of a heart beating beneath her palm.  To feel her nerves awaken to sensation after these long, empty days of nothingness.

"No, please!" Aedina whispered, catching his hand in both of hers and raising it to her face.  She held it a long moment, breathing in the scent of his skin.  He smelled of dry leaves and pine sap from the branches he'd pushed aside during his walk through the woods, of the jerky he'd eaten along the way, of the smoke of the campfire he now warmed himself before.  Her eyes fluttered closed, and inhaling deeply, she stoked her cheek across his knuckles.

"Aedina--" Duncan paused, his dark eyes troubled as he groped helplessly for words.  At length, he said, "This is not right.  You're grieving.  You are not yourself."

She shook her head, nuzzling his palm, which had opened to cup her face despite his words.  "No.  It's not grief," she voice little more than a gentle susurration against his skin.  "I understand now."

"Understand what?"  In contradiction of his denial, his other hand cupped the other side of her face, his fingers stroking her hair.  She leaned into the touch, savoring the pressure against her scalp, the soft scratching sound of her hair beneath his calloused fingertips.

"What I spoke of so casually that day in Highever.  Why the soldiers spent their last days with their lovers before they left.  Now I see," she breathed into his palm, her lips brushing the calloused skin, her tongue darting out to taste him.  "Everything behind me is dead.  Everyone I've ever known or loved is gone.  Fergus may be dead for all I know, if Howe's treachery has spread so far.  And soon I shall be in a war I fear I may not survive.  Death lies behind me, ahead of me, no matter where I turn.  But right here, now, in this night, I'm alive.  I wish to live, while I may.  Duncan, _please_...help me to feel alive."

A shadow crossed Duncan's face then, a hint of some terrible sorrow that told her that in this, too, he understood her.  She reached for him, her arms sliding around his neck, and his arms closed around her almost protectively.  For a long moment, his lips hovered just over hers, so near that each breath caused his mouth to brushed hers in the gentlest of feather-light strokes.  Then he drew a deep breath and covered her mouth with his.

His kiss was tender, just short of chaste.  Aedina inhaled his essence, letting his nearness, his vitality fill her senses.  Duncan's attitude was solemn, close to reverent as they helped each other remove armor and clothing amid soft, leisurely kisses.  His tongue teased her lips apart and she drank in the taste of him.  She buried her face in the crook of his neck and simply stood there, feeling the hard, vibrating muscles of his shoulders beneath her palms, tasting his pulse as it fluttered against her lips.  Despite the heat of his skin, she shivered as the chill of the late-autumn air touched her skin, and Duncan left her a moment to build up the fire to a roaring blaze that banished the cold.

As she watched the play of muscles beneath his skin when he moved, saw the evidence of _his_ desire, the simple need for contact blossomed into something hungrier, more visceral.  By the time he returned to draw her close, a warm pulsation had begun between her legs, intensifying as his erection twitched and pulsed against her belly.  And in that too, was life.  Oh, _Maker_, yes, especially that.  He surrounded her with his arms, his warmth, his scent, and pulling her bare body flush with his, he bore her down to the bedroll.

  
*     *     *     *     *

As they started their journey through the Hinterlands, a constant drizzle began to slow their progress and make the trek miserable.  They pitched a tent when they camped at night, wherein they were wont to retire early and drive the bone-wearying chill away with the warmth of naked flesh.  That Duncan was a thorough and conscientious lover was no surprise to Aedina, but what did surprise her was his astonishing capacity for tenderness.  The implacable, demanding urgency he'd demonstrated that night in Highever seemed only to come forth for short moments at the very height of passion, before giving way to a man of of unexpected depths of gentleness, kindness, intelligence, wit and humor.

Still, there was a distance between them that could not be spanned.  In the light of day, he was the Warden-Commander, and Aedina did not permit herself to forget it.  Though she was surprised to discover just how very much she enjoyed his company, she remembered well what he had told her that night in Highever,  He could make her no promises; they had only the present.

"I have nothing I may offer you, least of all a future," Duncan responded to her carefully worded inquiry one night as she lay with her back to his chest, sharing their heat with one another within the tent.  There was a wistful note in his voice that confused her.  "It's not merely tradition, but a matter of necessity that prevents me from telling you what is to come; the Joining rite and the details of what it means to be a Grey Warden are carefully kept secrets.  After you undertake the Joining, you will understand better, and I shall be able to tell you more.  And when that time comes, you may very well hate me."

A shiver that owed nothing to the cold ran through her, and she pulled his arms more tightly around her body.  "I find that difficult to imagine," she said at last, feeling some of his pensive mood beginning to infect her.

"I can only hope that will remain true," he said, kissing her ear.  "I am, perhaps, a foolish old man for allowing this to happen, and yet I shall always be grateful."

"Old!" she protested, pulling out of his arms to turn and face him.  She smiled, determined to tease him out of his melancholy.  "Hah!  Any man half your age would preen with overbearing pride to claim he'd comported himself half so well!"

Duncan laughed then, a rich, warm, _knowing_ sound that pleased her even as her body responded with an entirely different sort of delight.  "Perhaps then, we have found the secret to rejuvenation here," he theorized, placing heated kisses down her neck and bosom, before maneuvering carefully in the confined space of the tent to kneel between her legs, kissing down her belly and the lower still.  "What say you?  Shall I comport myself so again?"

"Indeed, ser," she sighed, relaxing back upon the bedroll as his lips and tongue parted her.

And so she found herself perfectly content with the arrangement.  What they had between them, she understood, was not love.  Fondness, certainly, perhaps even enough to someday become love, but no more than that.  Until the war was over, there could be nothing more.

Even armed with such understanding, Aedina still felt the loss when Duncan announced that they would once again begin keeping watch in shifts through the night.

"We are but two days from Ostagar," he told her as she looked out from the shelter of the tent, feeling somewhat bereft.  "Though the darkspawn horde has not made it this far north yet, it's possible we may yet encounter raiding parties."

Two days, Aedina thought, withdrawing deeper into the tent to huddle alone in the cold.  Two days from Fergus.  Two days until she had to tell him that everyone they loved was dead.  Two days until she had to confess that she'd left their mother and father behind, that she hadn't somehow found a way to bring them out with her.  Two days before she had to tell him about the deaths of his wife and son.

Two days until she could take her cause to the king and let him know what Howe had done.  Two days until she could begin righting the wrong.  Two days before she left behind Lady Cousland of Highever and became the Grey Warden Aedina.

So much loss.  So much regret.  So much promise.

Aedina felt the anticipation and dread filling her in equal parts, and over the course of those two days, she often became lost in her own thoughts.  She planned out the plea she would make of the king, scripted an eloquent speech about the steadfast loyalty and devoted service of the Cousland family and the people of Highever.  She carefully mulled over the words she would speak to Fergus, to try to soften the blow of the tragic news she bore.

Those last two days fled, and mid-morning on the final day of the journey, she was jerked from her musings to discover Duncan had stopped abruptly in front of her.

"What's wrong?  Are there darkspawn near?" she asked anxiously, reaching for her daggers.

"We are no more than half a day from Ostagar," Duncan said, carefully surveying their surroundings.  "I shouldn't be surprised if soon we begin to run into patrols and sentries, though I imagine most of them will be stationed to the south."

"What is it, then?" she asked again.

After a long pause, Duncan shook his head with a rueful laugh.  "I am, indeed, a foolish old man," he said.

In an instant, Aedina found herself pushed back against the bole of a large tree.  Her arms came around him as his lips roughly parted hers, his tongue thrusting into her mouth.  Every sense she possessed flared to life, liquid fire pooling between her legs.  She hooked a leg around his hip and one of his hands gripped her bare thigh, stroking beneath the pleats of leather that covered her.

His urgency, remembered dimly as though in a dream from that night at Highever, infected her.  Her pulse roared in her ears in time to the throbbing at the apex of her thighs.  Hungrily, she fumbled for the laces of his chauses.  Freeing his erection from its restraint, she stroked him even as his hand pushed her smallclothes aside and his fingers plunged inside her.  Her head fell back against the rough bark of the tree, and she moaned loudly, until his lips recaptured hers.

"Now!" she demanded, gasping.  His fingers withdrew as he thrust a knee between her legs.  Eagerly her arms encircled his shoulders and she helped pull herself up.  His hands gripped her buttocks and he lifted her easily, using the tree to help support her weight.  Aedina wriggled one hand between their bodies to guide him as he let her slide down just a bit and angled his hips to push into her in one abrupt thrust.

Her harsh cry of pleasure echoed through the trees, setting birds to flight, and for a brief, lucid moment she thought that if there were indeed any patrols nearby, surely they would soon find themselves intruded upon.

Sheathed fully within her, Duncan paused.  Their foreheads touched and they rested against the tree, joined, panting together.  Even before Duncan began to move, Aedina could feel the tension coiling within her, thrumming through muscles deep inside.  Duncan pushed forward, impossibly deep and her eyes fluttered closed.

"No!" he rasped, his face only a breath away from hers.  "Look at me!"

With effort, she forced her eyes open, meeting his fathomless gaze, his eyes so dark they were nearly black.  She felt him begin to lift her and used the grip of her arms around his neck and her legs about his waist to aid the endeavor, raising and lowering herself to meet the surges of his hips.  Faster, deeper, filled more completely than she had known possible, and through it all, his eyes intent upon hers, unyielding and unblinking.  With each thrust the knot within her tightened, again, and again, until finally the tension snapped with explosive force.  Her eyes slammed shut, her head fell back and her mouth froze in a wordless cry.  As she contracted around him, he drove into her, losing all sense of rhythm in his urgency.  Once, twice, three more thrusts until he collapsed against her, his face against her neck as his body shuddered.

At length, Duncan released his grip upon her backside and she unwrapped her legs and slid down his body, pausing when she found her knees reluctant to support her weight.  Still, he stood there, wrapping his arms around her and holding her against the tree.  He kissed her forehead, and whispered, "Thank you."

Puzzled by his suddenly tender, almost regretful demeanor, Aedina looked at him with a concerned frown, but he was already pulling away and righting his clothing.  Bemused, she did the same, and they began their journey again almost as abruptly as they had stopped.

As the mighty, ruined fortress of Ostagar appeared on the horizon, Aedina smiled secretly to herself, filled with hope.  For now she knew, that bloody night when Highever had fallen, the next generation of Couslands had been conceived.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note: I would like to thank [w0rdinista](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Niamh_St_George/pseuds/w0rdinista) for her feedback on this chapter, particularly as it pertains to Duncan's characterization and events of "The Calling," which I have still not gotten around to reading. She did explain to me that she found it extremely unlikely in the canon of "The Calling" that a male Warden could impregnate any woman. However, that's why the Maker gave us AUs, no? If I can postulate that Duncan allows himself to sleep with Teyrn Cousland's daughter, then certainly I take it a step beyond that. Nonetheless, I can see why this might not be looked upon favorably by those who are adamantly devoted to canonical absolutes. You may wish to check such tendencies at the door.
> 
> There is also [this convenient quote from David Gaider](http://social.bioware.com/forum/1/topic/47/index/455504/2#455902): "A Grey Warden can have a child… just not with another Grey Warden. So in the case of Alistair being married to a female PC the only possible result is no heir (unless Alistair has a child with someone other than his wife, I suppose). Grey Wardens have a limited chance of conception with a non-Grey Warden, but it does happen… and the child is not tainted in any fashion." That should go a long way toward soothing any Canonical Fundamentalist inclinations.


End file.
